


In Sickness

by ponderinfrustration



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux
Genre: F/F, Femslash, Sickfic, disorientation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-09-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:46:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ponderinfrustration/pseuds/ponderinfrustration
Summary: Christine is rushing to get ready for a lesson, but Carlotta looks after her.





	In Sickness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ConvenientAlias](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConvenientAlias/gifts).



She’ll be late, she’ll be late. She can’t be late. Erik will be cross with her if she’s late for rehearsal and then he’ll get into a huff and it’ll be a week before she hears the end of it. God why can’t she move faster? Why are the hooks in her dress so awkward to reach? She really mustn’t be late and if she could only stop sneezing, just for two minutes so she can pin up her hair, where are her shoes she’s sure they must be here somewhere. Why are her arms so heavy? If her head would just stop throbbing and give her a bit of peace—

Hands clamp tight around her wrists and she twists around, finds Carlotta behind her, lips pursed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

How she manages to sound imperious even with her hair in disarray, Christine will never understand.

“I have to—"

The perfectly plucked arched brow silences her. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Dammit why must she use that tone? She knows it’s unsettling. Why does she always have to use it? If she’d only let go of her hands so she can finish getting dressed and get out of here.

Christine tries to shake her off, but Carlotta is stronger and her grip tightens.

“But Erik—"

“Your _esteemed tutor_ ,” the emphasis drips with sarcasm, and Christine’s ears are too sore for it. She winces and Carlotta softens her words, “your esteemed tutor conveys his sympathies that you are not well and wishes you a speedy recovery.”

Not well? But of course she’s well! She’s managed to get dressed, hasn’t she? How does that not fit any definition of _well_?

“I feel—"

“I swear, if you are about to tell me that you feel fine I will drug you myself. You need rest, Christine! The doctor said so!”

The doctor? When was he…oh. Oh. That was him, wasn’t it? Before she fell asleep, when her whole body was burning up. Why did she not remember it until now?

The weight of it all is too much, and before she knows it she is sagging into Carlotta’s arms, and Carlotta is easing her down, is gently loosening her dress.

“You’ll sleep better without this on. I’ll bring you some hot tea, and tomorrow we’ll see how you feel.”

It is not as if she has much of a choice, not with the firm look that remains in Carlotta’s eyes (were they always so green? So vivid? She can’t quite remember), but still she is just about to mount a token protest when the lips that were so tight are pressed, lightly, to hers.

The kiss is fleeting, is gone almost as soon as it happens, but she surrenders to Carlotta’s ministrations.

(Besides, if she remembers correctly (and the memory is certainly faded but she thinks she must), then there are some _certain activities_ that Sorelli mentioned that are supposed to help one feel better, and perhaps, if she is careful, Carlotta will not object to the request.)


End file.
